Read Online Anthology of Japanese Literature by Donald Keene - Free Book Online Page B

disembarked onto the beach, and we talked to each other of the sorrows of parting. Of all the people at the governor's residence, these who have now come are said to have shown themselves the most kind and considerate on that occasion. . . . While we were exchanging poems the chief pilot—a man of no sensibility—having taken his fill of sake and thinking it high time to be off, announced: "The tide is full. There should be a wind soon"; and we made ready to re-embark. . . . This evening we anchored at Urado, where we were later overtaken by Fujiwara no Tokizane, Tachibana no Suehira, and others.
    Proceeding eastward from Urado along the Pacific coast of Shikoku, they reach a harbor called Ō minato the following night. Here they are detained for nine days, waiting for clear weather. After a disappointing New Year's Day, which only serves to increase their general yearning for Kyoto, they occupy themselves in receiving visitors and composing poems.
    Ninth day, second moon: Early in the morning we left Sminato, and made for the anchorage of Naha. A large number of people gathered to see us off, determined not to leave us so long as we remain within the confines of the provincial government district. . . .
    From now on we row farther and farther out to sea. It is for this reason that all these people gathered here to see us off. Little by little, at every stroke of the oars, the watchers standing by the shore slip away into the distance, just as we on the boats, too, grow more and more indistinct to them. On the shore, perhaps, there are things they would like to say to us. On the boats there are thoughts we wish to convey to them—but to no avail. Even so, though we can expect no reply, we compose this last poem:
No courier have we, and though with heavy hearts
We leave—perhaps they'll never know we grieved.
    Soon we pass the pine-covered beaches of Uta. Pines beyond number! How many tens of centuries have they stood there? Waves wash the roots of each tree, and from each topmost branch a crane soars into the air. We watched in tireless fascination. Someone on the boat recited this poem:
As far as the eye can see, on each pine top there rests a crane
—Each crane to each pine, perhaps, a faithful companion these thousand years!
    The poem, however, cannot compare with the sight itself. As we proceed in this manner, absorbed in the scenery, night gradually draws on. The mountains and sea grow dark. Soon it becomes impossible to distinguish east from west, and for warning of a change in the weather we must rely completely on the pilot's judgment. Even the men, unaccustomed to such a situation, show signs of anxiety. With the women it is much worse—we hide our heads in the bottom of the boat and sob. But while we are in this sad condition, the pilot and the boatmen sing songs, completely unconcerned:
In the spring fields lonely I cry.
My hands I have cut, I have cut,
Gathering herbs in the sharp pampas grass.
And will my parents eat these herbs,
Or are they for my husband's mother?
Oh, I wish I had never got married!
    or:
Where is that lad who came last night?
I'll ask him for the money.
"I'll pay tomorrow," he said—but he lied.
He's brought no money, of course, but worse—
He hasn't come himself!
    There are many others besides, but I shall not write them down. The sea grows rougher, but listening to these songs and to the boatmen's laughter we feel more easy at heart, and at last, after a long day's voyage, we reach harbor. An old gentleman and an old lady have meanwhile fallen sick, and they retire to bed without supper.
    Tenth day: Today we remain at this harbor of Naha.
    The following day they proceed to Murotsu, their last stopping place within the province of Tosa. Here they are detained by bad weather for five days.
    Seventeenth day: The clouds have cleared, and in the early hours before dawn there is a fine clear moon. We set out in our boats. A perfect image of the clouds above is